


Antihero

by ElysianStars



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-20 16:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14265243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysianStars/pseuds/ElysianStars
Summary: In Askr, everyone from Nohr claims that Corrin  will betray them. Everyone from Hoshido claims Corrin will choose their side. Dragged into this unstable world, Niles faces the possibility that his love was nothing but a lie.





	Antihero

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I prefer to try and stick with Niles/Zero's original JP characterisation, which is harsher than in the English-localised games.

Niles' first thought, upon arriving in Askr, is how the hell he can get out again. It's all fine and well, this conflict the natives explain to him, their noble, peace-loving kingdom struggling against the Emblian warmongers (he doesn't for one minute assume it's really so clear-cut as that). But he's already tied to another royal family, in his own world, and he's not interested in taking on extra work.

Lord Leo is waiting for him, promised his loyal service. Lord Corrin is waiting for him, with another set of promises, even closer to his heart.

He doesn't say that aloud, to the cheerful Askran royals or their hooded Summoner. Instead he smiles and nods, pretends obedience, feigns interest as they show him around their castle, all the while scoping out possible escape routes. They say something about him being _bound to their cause_ , but he doesn't believe that. They talk about different worlds, and other people from his own world already here, but he's not too interested.

Eventually they leave him to settle into his surroundings, assigned to a barracks of similar 'heroes', as they call their otherworldly captives. The assignment is an insult, even if they don't realise it. As retainer to a prince, he's a cut above ordinary soldiers, with his own private quarters back in Castle Krakenburg. He doesn't protest, though. He'll simply find his own place to sleep, somewhere a gaggle of strangers can't oversee his nightmares. Doesn't even need to be indoors. This realm's climate feels milder than Nohr's, and he survived half his life out on Windmire's shady streets.

He spends the night restlessly, sneaking through torchlit corridors (although they claim he's free to wander where he likes). Wondering if his absence has been noticed yet, back home. Is anyone worrying, afraid he's fallen prey to Hoshidan ninja? Does anyone doubt him, suspect he might have deserted?

No, Lord Leo would never doubt him. Lord Corrin... Corrin never would, either. He'll probably be the first to notice Niles is gone.

A sense of loss accompanies that thought, an unfamiliar pang. At last, when weariness overtakes him, he breaks into an empty guest chamber. He lies on the bland linens, stares up at the bare stone ceiling, and dreams of Corrin's treehouse, wooden beams and blood-red sheets, warm smiles and wandering hands. Kisses equal parts lust and adoration, filthy talk and sweet nothings in perfect balance. A newly-discovered love that had begun to change him, day by day. Being able to call it love was a monumental change, in itself. Not a word that Niles had much use for, in the past.

Even if the war between Nohr and Hoshido were over, and his more lethal services were no longer necessary, staying in this world would still be unthinkable. There's nothing for him here. He isn't a mercenary for hire, or a meddler willing to help out just for the good deed's sake. He's spoken for, in every possible way, and no amount of magical summoning powers will impress him into servitude.

 

* * *

 

The next day, the Summoner ensnares Lord Leo.

Once Niles' first dart of shock passes, he can't decide if he should be pleased at the sight of a familiar face, or disturbed that now they're both stuck here (and there's one fewer ally at Corrin's side). It becomes clear, however, that his concerns are pointed in the wrong direction.

This isn't Leo as Niles knows him, the liege he spoke to only the other day. This one seems older, careworn, an unseen weight upon his shoulders, new scratches on black armour. Yet he recognises Niles, greets him gladly. And later, after the dust has settled, gives a brief explanation of what befell him.

This Leo hails from further into the future, when Hoshido has taken a strong offensive against Nohr, invasion and suppression in the name of peace. Corrin has turned against the family he grew up with, reconciled with his _true_ brothers and sisters, and leads the charge.

The news sends Niles reeling. From anyone else he'd never believe it, would lash out at the mere suggestion. But Lord Leo wouldn't lie, not about this, not to his faithful retainer. Niles wants to press for more information, understanding – knowledge is power, after all – but no, the discussion is closed. Leo doesn't want to dwell on it, claiming the details are too painful to share, especially with someone who hasn't yet witnessed them come to pass. The facts are what they are. Corrin will turn on them.

It's sickening to imagine. Pushed too far by King Garon's cruelties, perhaps? But even so, Corrin is stubborn, he doesn't run off when things get difficult. And he's _honest_ , guileless in a way that Niles initially mistook for stupidity (sweetness can often seem stupid, when your own soul is bitter). The way he speaks, the way he makes Niles feel, everything he does... Not just for Niles, but everyone around him. Always kind, striving to achieve better things, not even willing to kill enemy soldiers as they bay for his blood.

Not willing to kill Hoshidan soldiers...

No, no. It isn't about that, that isn't why he doesn't like to kill people. It's because they're people. That's enough. That's how impossibly pure his morals are. He wouldn't pledge love and ask for trust, only to change his mind and tear it all down.

_But Leo wouldn't lie..._

It's beyond explanation, and there's nobody Niles can look to for enlightenment. He feels helpless, as if there's a blade at his stomach and all he can do is watch it slowly press through the skin, grit his teeth against the pain. He can't reach the only other person who could give him an answer.

Days pass, and since Lord Leo is acquiescent to staying for the time being, aiding the royals of Askr, that's what Niles will do too. What other choice is there? A blunt instrument rather than the refined weapon he used to be, since there's no need for the spying and manipulations he carried out in Nohr; all that matters is how many enemies he can take down. He throws himself into foreign battles, reckless, raging. Pushing himself to exhaustion, not returning to the castle without an empty quiver and red-spattered clothes. Maybe the other 'heroes' think the presence of his liege spurs him on. Maybe they think he's just a violent criminal. Like he used to be.

He's not the type of admirable soul who lets misery urge him towards patience and virtue.

Weeks pass, but they claim that time flows differently in other worlds, so that when they return home it will be close to the moment they left. It's as plausible as anything else about this bullshit situation. Not so different from the astral realm, the deeprealms, offshoots from the main branch of Niles' own world. So when he returns, he'll still be moving with Nohr's army. When Lord Leo returns, he'll be back amongst the ruins of their future.

With insatiable greed, the Summoner continues to drag in warriors from other worlds, not caring if they're nobles or peasants, saints or scoundrels, so long as they can wield a sword, a bow, a tome to deadly effect. Most are strangers, from places Niles has never heard of. A handful of other Nohrians begin to appear, and an equal number of soldiers from Hoshido.

Fighting is forbidden within the castle, both sides called upon to keep truce. Leo agrees to hold Nohr in line, and the youngest princess of Hoshido meekly nods along, forced to represent her people whether she likes it or not. Askr's castle grounds are spacious, with enough separate living areas to make things bearable. Niles manages to run into Hoshidan retainers a few times regardless, trading jibes and trying to goad them into a fight – but just as they're about to fall for it, some bothersome peacekeeper always turns up, denying him satisfaction.

It's a bleak existence. He smiles and flirts with the Summoner, and silently hates them. Even if what he had before was a pretty illusion about to end, he would rather it happened organically, an instant, messy shattering, rather than this tepid, drawn-out fading away from a distance. If his heart was going to be torn apart, he wanted it done with Corrin's own hands. Looking into Corrin's eyes.

He tells himself that he's forgetting what it felt like. To be wrapped in someone's arms and feel unhesitatingly _safe_. A spark of joy at such simple things as a shared glance, a stolen kiss, a moment of private communion. To think he might have somebody who'd never flinch, even from the most awful parts of him, broken and badly-healed, crooked and scarred.

You'd really expect him to know better, than to imagine someone like _him_ could have all that. Of course not. Of course he hadn't dazzled some charming, conquering prince, the poor orphan boy on his way to a fairytale ending. The more he thinks about it, the more plausible it seems that Corrin was just a brilliant actor, biding time to strike against Nohr, the kidnappers who'd locked him in a tower, lied to him, forced him to watch the slaughter of innocents. It's far more believable than him actually loving Niles, isn't it?

 

* * *

 

He remembers the last night they spent together, before he was dragged to this cheerful hell.

The Nohrian fleet was transporting them to Mokushu, over the southern ocean. A storm threatened, and passengers were told to stay below decks, locked away from the elements. Niles didn't consider it a risk to sneak from his own berth – cramped, minimalist bunks alongside the other retainers – to Corrin's cabin.

The door swung open at his knock, and Corrin's smile illuminated the gloomy corridor. He swept Niles inside, already drawing him into a kiss. Being the focus of that, all warmth and delight, made Niles feel like the centre of the world. Carefree, invincible, like he actually deserved everything he was getting, an unparalleled high. He hadn't known people could make each other feel this way.

“I missed you,” Corrin gasped, and didn't give him a chance to reply before kissing him again, as if they'd been parted for years rather than hours. The ship rocked with an especially strong wave, sending them tumbling off-balance, managing to aim their fall onto the bed. Laughter, because right now nothing could be wrong, nothing was a problem. They set their own wild rhythm, as the storm raised its tempo outside (conveniently covering the noise; the other royals were in neighbouring cabins).

Niles had fucked other people, in the past. He'd never made love to anybody else.

The bed was barely big enough for two, giving an added excuse to lie entangled once they'd worn themselves out. Above and around, the clatter of wood and rope, roar of wind and water. To Niles it may as well have been a thousand miles away, but Corrin seemed attentive, tilting his head to listen, as it rested on Niles' chest (somehow the weight of another body felt comforting, not restrictive, when it was him).

“Is this normal for ocean travel?”

“No idea. Are you worried?” This was one area where he couldn't claim any more life experience than Corrin, but was sure that if anything serious happened, they'd be alerted pretty quickly. Until then, he'd rather just enjoy himself.

“Not if nobody else is, I suppose.”

“It's fine. Even if the ship goes down, you can whisk us all off to dry land in the astral realm, can't you?”

“Haha, I hadn't thought of that.”

“The only dilemma, of course, would be who to save. Everybody? Even those shady characters like Hans and Iago?” Those two weren't actually on the voyage, but no doubt they'd have lackeys placed amongst the ordinary soldiers, keen to report any missteps.

Corrin frowned mildly (and every change in his expression, every flick of lashes and curve of his mouth, had Niles mesmerised). “That would be a real test of mercy.”

“There's such a thing as too much mercy. _I'd_ call it simply convenient. Everyone who opposes your ideals dealt with in one fell swoop, and nobody could blame you for a natural disaster.”

“Even so, let's hope it stays a hypothetical scenario.”

“Are you certain? I could go saw a few holes in the ship if you'd like.” He said it as a joke...mostly. If the tables were turned, and there was a chance to get rid of Corrin by sinking them, he didn't doubt that Garon's pet vipers would take it. And Niles would destroy this entire fleet, guilt-free, before letting anything harm him.

“You're terrible.” Corrin gave an incredulous smile. Actions belied words as he took hold of Niles' hand, pressing fingertips to fingertips, then lazily intertwining them.

“Say that you love me,” Niles demanded, quietly.

“I love you.”

And stupidly, he didn't hesitate in believing it.

 

* * *

 

At last Corrin is summoned, but again it's all wrong.

Clearly, with a single glance, this isn't the Corrin from his world. This imposter – he knows that word is unfair, but uses it anyway – has the same pointed ears that people here claim are a mark of draconic blood, and the same pale hair, albeit in a long cascade rather than cut short(ish) and straight(ish), the way _his_ Corrin's is. Her voice is different, her mannerisms feminine. Yet there's something familiar in the way she moves, some undefinable quality that Niles feels pathetically drawn to, despite himself.

She barely spares a look for him, not a shred of recognition. She wears the white, tasselled armour of Hoshido, and sweeps Princess Sakura into a hug of greeting, followed by others from that kingdom. To those of Nohr, the imposter-Corrin is superficially friendly, yet keeps a distance. She doesn't regret her betrayal.

He wants to confront her, torment her, catch her alone and tell her all the things he did to the other version of herself, just to see her reaction. Would she be horrified, confused, aroused? Would she bite her lip and smile in shy enticement, the way his Corrin used to? Would she slap his face, call him names, run away in fear of her virtue? No chance to find out; she's too jealously guarded, by those who have laid claim to her.

When Lady Camilla is summoned, she's less proud than Leo or Niles, rushing over to her 'sister' and being welcomed with tears, exclamations from both sides that they never wanted to fight each other. When Prince Ryoma appears, tensions rise again, currents pulling to and fro. Niles tries to ignore it all, like an addict resisting the siren call of their favourite poison. She's not his Corrin. She's nothing to do with him.

If all this is to be believed, no Corrin was ever really his.

He tells himself it was never love, on either side. How could it be? Bits and pieces may have been genuine – a conversation Corrin found interesting, a trick in the bedroom that he liked – but those didn't add up to a solid whole. It had been fun. They'd gotten carried away. That was all.

Because anyone can lie, can't they? Niles has done it for most of his life, conning and deceiving, first on the streets and then in the castle. To survive, to profit, for fun, for obligation. From securing his next meal to uncovering disloyalty amongst minor nobles, through whatever nasty means were necessary. He shouldn't be so shocked to have it turned back against him. Even his former gang made him feel like an invaluable part of the team, right up to the moment they left him for dead.

Corrin was a bad influence, a contamination, changing Niles from the ruthless person he needed to be. Stripping his armour, filling his head with impossible ideas, visions of a rosy future that had never been within reach. Dividing his attention, stealing time from the prince he was originally supposed to serve. Distance gave a clear perspective on all that, now.

He stops paying attention to new summonings, new arrivals. None of them matter. He won't make the same mistake again.

 

* * *

 

“We know what you're up to, creep.”

Niles feigns surprise, raising his brows theatrically as if he can't imagine why such a name would be attached to himself (and in fairness, he isn't doing anything bad at that moment, only sitting on a wall in one of the castle's boringly pretty courtyards). The three Hoshidan retainers glare back at him. He likes to pretend he doesn't know their names, but he does, along with their favoured fighting styles and various other tidbits of information. That was his job, back when it had meaning. He was good at it, once upon a time.

“You're planning something against Lady Corrin, aren't you? You're always giving her weird looks.”

“Planning? No, more like reminiscing. Back in another world, Corrin and I had something of a...bond.” He smirks, wanting it to sound like a merely physical thing, vulgar and meaningless.

“Ugh!” Hana's mouth pinches into a disgusted grimace, as if she can't imagine anything worse. Strange, since as far as Niles was aware, Hana isn't fond of Corrin either. Maybe the threat of Niles' attention trumps everything else.

“Don't believe me? Fine. My Corrin was slightly different than yours, however...” He makes an obscene gesture, to illustrate what form the difference took. “Who knows, maybe yours has more refined tastes. Or maybe she likes exactly the same wicked things being done to her. Unless there's someone on your side that I can compare notes with, it's hard to prove anything, isn't it? Has she opened those lovely legs to anyone yet?”

“You're not worthy of thinking about Hoshido's royalty like that!”

“Then stop me,” Niles scoffs. They trade uneasy glances, but do nothing. “My poor Corrin, he may be destined to run back into Hoshidan arms, but he'll be forever stained by Nohrian scum.” If you blur those last two words together just right, it sounds a lot worse.

That finally does it. Orboro throws a punch, and Niles lets himself fall back to avoid it, tipping off the wall. He kicks out at her, only managing a glancing blow, but enough to draw a curse as it connects. Hits the floor in a backward roll, quickly regaining his footing. For a few precious seconds, his thoughts blank out to everything but the immediate threat, adrenaline and instinct taking control.

That meathead Hinata strikes from his blind side, grabbing and trying to restrain him. The samurai has more muscle, but Niles is taller and meaner. They scuffle, jabbing and kicking, while the other two Hoshidans vault over the wall.

It's a regrettably short-lived fight, before guards come running to break them up. All four are ordered off to the infirmary, Niles with a twisted arm and the faint taste of blood behind his teeth, disappointed he doesn't have more to show for it. He'd rather sulk and wallow in discomfort than let the healers touch him. He barely feels ashamed when Lord Leo comes storming in to collect him, as if he were a truant child.

“Keep your dog muzzled, prince of Nohr,” calls one of the Hoshidans, from the other side of the room.

Leo turns to face the speaker, unfazed, managing the effect of looking down upon them even though he's not on horseback. It's a trick most of the royals are good at, besides Corrin. “Dog? Strange, it seems your countrymen were the ones hunting in a pack.”

Niles doesn't deserve that defence, but silently follows Leo out of the infirmary. His liege's expression is stern, with an edge of concern (easy to miss, if you didn't know him well).

“I'd like to say this surprises me, Niles, but I can't. Others have complained of your behaviour, including Alfonse and Sharena. They're worried your presence here is doing more harm than good.”

“I apologise for causing you trouble, milord. I am...finding it difficult to adjust.” Not a full explanation, since he's never told Leo what passed between himself and Corrin. It didn't feel appropriate, on a whole other level than taunting the Hoshidans. _I screwed_ _a_ _different version of your princess_ isn't the same as _I was_ _madly_ _in love with your brother._

Except that it was more madness than love, he tries to remind himself again.

“You could ask the Summoner to return you to Nohr,” Leo suggests. It's more feasible than it once would have been. The collection of 'heroes' has grown massively since Niles first appeared, so surely he wouldn't be missed. Except...

“I'm sworn to serve you, Lord Leo. I can't leave this realm until you do.” There's nothing back home for him, anyway. Not like he once thought.

“Well, I appreciate that. I confess, this place has been something of a respite. You know the state things were in, when I left.”

“You've given me an idea, milord, but not all the details.” Now that time has passed, the wound given a chance to scar over, Niles feels a spark of hope that Leo might be more open to discussing the topic. Even if it's unnecessary, because he's accepted that Corrin must have been false... Even so, that hope is somehow there, a stubborn flicker amongst cooling ashes.

“Details? Very well, if you're still so interested. Castle Krakenburg had been infiltrated by Hoshidan soldiers, led by Corrin. I...actually met him, in an underground passage. I let him pass by, thought he was doing the best thing for our kingdom, ending Father's violent rule. I waited there, trusting him. But then reports came back...” Leo pauses, collecting himself, glancing down with a fist raised to his mouth, as if stifling a cough. “They claimed Xander was dead, by Corrin's hand. And Elise. I wanted to see for myself, but you were all urging me to flee the castle, before he turned on me too.” Another pause, and his next words are brittle with controlled emotion. “We loved him, and he was killing us.”

Niles knows he wasn't included in that 'we', but it feels like it, just the same.

“Not if I take care of him first.” The words burst out before he can think them over too deeply, impulsive, verging on desperate. Leo gives him a questioning look. “Lord Leo, if we're from different points in time, then couldn't my actions change your future? If I go back to when Corrin is still amongst us, armed with knowledge of what will happen...”

“I honestly don't know. The people of Askr are unfortunately vague on their own powers, and those of Breidablik. Records exist, but there's not as much useful information as I'd hoped for.” Of course, Leo would have already checked. He wouldn't be aiding this world without knowing what he was getting into, strolling blithely around as so many others seem content to. “Then again, if one managed to change a world's future, would anyone 'remember' how it used to be? Or would the new outcome be universally accepted? It it's the latter case, then of course there'd be no records.”

“Do you want me to try?” Because if Niles is a lost cause, he will at least do his duty one last time. Save Leo from ruin, his homeland from being overrun, from mourning his siblings. Make one thing right in this miserable damn existence.

“I...” Even now, after speaking of Corrin's evil deeds, Leo hesitates to say yes. “Niles. Even if you were successful, nobody would understand. The me from that time would consider you a murderer. Your life would be ruined.”

“My life is yours, milord. I'd consider that a fitting use for it.”

Leo takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, as if gauging that invisible weight. “...Speak to the Summoner, then. Save our kingdom, Niles.”

Niles bows, his own demons soothed a little, temporarily, by the sense of Leo's faith and expectation. Perhaps this will be the last time they speak, and if so, he's okay with ending things on a note like this.

 

* * *

 

He's on his way to find the Summoner, to beg, threaten, demand release, whatever it takes. Even self-destruction feels better than inaction. Seizing control, refusing to sit around in passive suffering.

He pictures how he'll do it. Quick and efficient, while Corrin's guard is down. It can't be drawn out, or rely on overpowering him, because at the end of the day he can turn into a _dragon_. A freshly sharpened dagger to the throat, wyrmslayer alloy. Sometimes the classics are best.

And then the same for Niles himself, because he'd never escape alive anyway. He wouldn't want to.

Thoughts drowning in blood, he follows the castle's maze of corridors, more or less memorised by now. Passes a familiar face or two, but they have nothing to say to each other. He's already a walking corpse, has been since the moment he arrived in this cursed realm. Leaving will be a relief. Dying will be a relief.

Then he turns a corner, and Corrin is there. The prince, not the princess. Dressed in black and gold Nohrian armour, his temporary pretence of loyalty. He takes a step forward, with an eager smile that stops Niles cold, momentarily piercing all defences and common sense with the thought that it's _beautiful_.

Niles hadn't known there was a summoning planned today. He'd stopped paying attention.

“Niles! Oh, you're–” Corrin pauses, checking himself. “Sorry, I keep forgetting, although they just told me. You might not even know me yet...?”

“I know you. You're Lord Corrin, elder brother to Lord Leo,” Niles replies, perfectly neutral, composed on the outside. His heart thumps, each beat dully painful like jabbing at a bruise, bile rising. He'd been so close to a solution, an escape. The whole world yanked from under his feet, once again.

“Well, yes, that's right. And...is that all I am to you?”

“What a bold question. If you'd like to know me better, that can certainly be arranged.” He leers, as if this is just another stranger he's trying to tease and push away. The easiest defence to fall back on.

Corrin gives an awkward laugh, no hint of discomfort, like it's a suggestion he's long accustomed to. Niles knows exactly what he isn't saying: _been there, done that._ This is the Corrin he'd thought was going to mend the rotten mess of his soul. The Corrin that, according to everybody else, must only be biding time until he abandons Nohr and sides with those smug Hoshidan bastards. “I'll pass for now. But – this may not mean a lot to you, but in the time I'm from, you're an important ally. So I'm glad to see your face. I hope we can get along here, too.”

Niles toys with the idea of replying in polite turn, stringing Corrin along, but decides he can't be bothered. Disdainfully, he fires back, “Please, spare me the theatre. We all know how important your Nohrian allies really are. You may as well throw that armour on the floor right now, and go change into something your _real_ family would approve of.”

Corrin gives a puzzled frown. You wouldn't think that being raised in an isolated tower would endow such good acting skills; must be a natural talent. Shame he was born to royalty and not travelling entertainers. “I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. Did I do something to upset you?”

“ _Spare me!_ ” Niles repeats in a snarl, yet it also feels like a plea. This is cruelty on a level even he can't appreciate. He never thought this would be the person to outdo him.

He turns, struggling to keep his departure to a stride and not an outright run. To his self-disgust, he feels like crying, but learned how to hold that in a long time ago.

 

* * *

 

They forgive him, Lord Leo and Lady Camilla. Niles is too far away to catch most of their words, an outsider on the scene, shadowing his liege's footsteps (waiting for privacy, to ask if their plan was changed now). When Corrin approaches them, he falls back further, stepping behind a pillar so as not to be seen. This may be another world, but it seems castles are the same everywhere, full of alcoves and corners for villains like him to creep between, and servants' passages to avoid tainting the views of their betters.

He tracks the greetings, then the gestures of a fraught conversation: Corrin's arms spread in entreaty, Leo's crossed warily. Niles waits for the two true Nohrians to turn their backs on their false, traitor sibling, inflict the treatment he deserves.

It doesn't happen. “I'd never leave the family I grew up with!” Corrin cries, and Camilla crumbles, gathers him into an embrace, weeping. They draw Leo in as well, and stand like that, the three of them locked in deceit and sentimental foolishness. Niles slinks off, unable to bear the sight.

He'd expected no better from Camilla, perhaps, but he'd thought Leo would see sense. They grew up surrounded by scheming nobles and concubines, they ought to be less gullible.

Later, Leo seeks Niles out and informs him that the plan has indeed changed. Confronted with a brother that still claims loyalty, Leo can't give the order for Niles to act as assassin.

Probably Niles wouldn't have been able to do it, anyway. Probably he'd have wrapped his fingers around that perfect throat, then collapsed into tears and made his pathos complete. Corrin has too much power over them all. Smitten, they stumble forward, unable to see the path in front of them, the crippling pitfalls. Unable to break free, not unless they receive a mercy killing. As Xander and Elise are destined to, apparently.

Niles wonders what would happen if another version of himself arrived here, one who'd never fallen under Corrin's spell, from a time before they met. How that other version would pity him, mock him, disdain him. As he does himself.

Yet still he watches Corrin from a distance, because at least it makes him master of his own pain. He runs himself onto the blade, not waiting meekly for it to strike. It's all he can do. Again, he'll take self-destruction over inaction.

In the training halls, the Yato whirls through sequences of strikes against straw dummies, and his own hands feel clumsy on the bowstring. He pretends he doesn't notice the glances Corrin shoots towards him, as they're playing some mutual game. Wonders how many Nohrians that sacred blade is destined to cut down. Will Leo be next in line, once he returns to their own world? Will Niles die defending him?

In the gardens, Corrin strolls and socialises like this is just a holiday. Looking to pluck a new plaything from amongst all these novel, interesting people, maybe? Niles is torn between wanting to warn them off, and wishing them success so that he can have partners in heartbreak, eventually.

In the dining hall is another main site for 'heroes' to interact. Quickly the people of Askr realised it would be difficult to accommodate their motley collection of hostages, keeping peasants comfortable but also affording a special touch of privilege to the nobles, showing due respect and diplomacy. The result is that common rooms don't follow any organised floor plan, dividing into smaller areas of varying style, offering something for everyone. The Hoshidans sit at low tables crafted to resemble those of their homeland, with royals set above the rest (the imposter Corrin at their heart). Nohrians occupy an entirely different corner of the room, with _proper_ tables and chairs, and Leo and Camilla are deferred to. And now their own Corrin, too.

Niles avoids that corner, doesn't have an appetite anyway. It's a disgrace to waste food, since he grew up with poverty and starvation, but he can barely stand to look at a plate lately.

What does interest him is the way the two Corrins look at each other, from their respective factions. Is the prince thinking forwards, to when his charade will be complete and he sits where the princess does? Is the princess thinking backwards, pitying him for still being stuck with their less favoured family?

The two rise from their seats, meet in the middle to greet themselves. Twin smiles that murder Niles twice over. Is this their first conversation? It appears so, as much as appearances can ever be trusted.

The princess seems to make a joke, and the prince's smile becomes strained. Niles recognises that expression, of a Corrin trying to politely weather something he doesn't really agree with. The prince replies, and the princess gives a blank look. They don't speak for long, after that. Almost as if they really were on opposite sides.

That, or Corrin likes everyone in the world except for Corrin. A grimly amusing thought.

 

* * *

 

It's a relief when orders come from the Askran royals, pulling Niles and a dozen other 'heroes' into another of their battles. He welcomes the chance to get away, sink into the simplicity of violence. His own life is in tatters, may as well drag as many others down as possible. It's a mindset that's always served him well enough. And one reason he'll never be loved.

Then he realises who else has been included in the group, and his mood sours all over again. It's tempting to duck out, refuse orders and go hide away somewhere, miss the fight altogether rather than endure standing at Corrin's side. Instead he resolves to put as much distance as possible between them, stay on the opposite edge of the battlefield no matter what the Summoner says about it (if they even notice).

He feels Corrin's eyes on him, and it makes his stomach twist because of how he can't stop himself checking, glancing back in impulsive flickers, unable to decide if he wants the attention or not. He's desperate for the first distracting glimpse of Emblian troops.

It gets easier, after that. He tracks an enemy mage, skewers their hand to their tome with the first arrow, takes them in the chest with the second. Following a ridge of high ground, he snipes an infantry unit from above, while they were preoccupied trying to reach his allies. In the distance he sees another mage, on horseback, probably trying to circle around for some tactical ploy.

He doesn't see the berserker until they're upon him, striking from his blind side. Almost too late he ducks back, face stinging as the blade's tip grazes him. Too close to fire an arrow, instead he reaches for the dagger at his belt, emergency backup – though it's no real match for an axe, either.

“Niles! _Niles!_ ”

He doesn't know where Corrin appears from, but suddenly he's there, charging the berserker. Blocking, spinning, flashes of claws and horns as he merges fluidly between man and dragon, attacking with his own fiercely graceful, unstoppable style. It gives Niles a chance to back off, enough to get a decent shot and bring the fight to an end.

Enemy felled, they stare at each other, breathless. Corrin gives a hesitant smile, and Niles feels...empty. He remembers how, in the past, something like this would have thrilled him, how witnessing Corrin's strength would have filled him with pride, how he'd have grabbed him by the waist, leaned close and promised to reward him later, for that.

An unexpected breeze skims his face, and he raises a hand. No eyepatch, he realises with a jab of alarm. The axe must have sliced it away. Quickly he checks to make sure no allies are near, pressing his palm over the old wound. It's not a sight he can bear others to gawk at, a mark of childish vulnerability.

“Are you all right?” Corrin asks, then seems to figure out the answer for himself. “Ah, it's okay. I've seen that before, with the Niles from my time. Here.” He unfastens the emerald brooch at his throat, unties the cravat and offers both out. “This should keep it covered until the mission's over.”

Niles stares at the offered items for a long moment, debating if taking them would be the greater or lesser of two evils. In the end he snatches them up, with minimal contact as if Corrin carries a plague. He wraps the cravat over his missing eye without saying another word. It's not real kindness, doesn't mean anything, but he'll scrape what benefit he can.

He forgets to give the accursed thing back once they're at the castle, and nobody else comments on it – probably it just looks like a bandage, secured with an especially fancy pin. Once he's alone, able to take it off...

He just sits, staring at the crumpled white fabric. Brings it to his face, breathes in, thinking of how it had coiled around Corrin's neck, recalling the scent of his bedsheets. Warmth, drowsy smiles, scarlet eyes gazing at Niles softly. Contentment, acceptance.

Why wasn't it enough? Why did Corrin have to make him fall in _love?_ If all he wanted was a fling to kill time, why go after Niles' heart? Why be so damned sweet, befriend and confide in him, fool him into feeling special? Did he not think Niles was serious, that it was a harmless game on both sides? Did he start out with genuine intentions, then change his mind when he realised what he'd gotten into? Or was it cold justice, punishing a despicable ex-thief that nobody would feel sorry for? Did he not understand a _single thing?_

_You're the only one I can relax my guard around,_ Niles had told him. _Let me stay by your side;_ _I don't want to be alone anymore. If you weren't here, I would definitely be broken._

Niles screams, wrenching up furniture and hurling it until it cracks, blunting his dagger against stone walls, then punching them. The skin of his knuckles splits, blood smearing, pain singing up his arms. Physical pain, visible wounds, better than the madness devouring him from inside.

 

* * *

 

It's a bad habit, Niles knows. Yet again he's watching, beneath unnamed and apathetic stars.

It's not his fault. He was here first; this is the best place to view the night skies, a large secluded balcony in a little-used wing of the castle, overgrown with gold-tipped ivy. It's _his_ habit, held for years, one of the precious few things that gives him any sense of calm. It's not his fault that Corrin wandered here too, forcing Niles to hurriedly slip into the shadows rather than endure a direct meeting. He silently curses as Corrin sits down, sighing, fidgeting with something on his hand. A piece of jewellery, gleaming in the light of the moon.

Then a third doomed soul joins them. Not a person that Niles recognises straight away, in the dark.

“Lord Corrin.”

Corrin stands and turns, seeming surprised to meet...it's one of the Hoshidan ninja, isn't it? “Hello. Can I help you?”

“You've done enough. Or you will do. I don't fully understand how this dance of worlds and possibilities works. But I know you choose to wear the armour of Nohr, and I know what I saw, before I was brought here.” The man's tone is serious, ominous.

“What did you see?”

“The body of my liege, Lord Ryoma. Your troops destroying the capital.”

“Ah.” Corrin gives a sorrowful murmur, but has nothing else to answer with.

Still in hiding, Niles frowns, confused. It's an accusation that makes no sense. How could Corrin orchestrate the ruin of _both_ capital cities, the deaths of both crown princes? If he went that far before switching to Hoshido, surely they wouldn't take him back. Nobody else has mentioned anything like that.

“You cannot deny it, then. I don't know if my actions now will make a difference. Yet here I am.” With that, the ninja raises his hand. A flash of metal – not jewellery, this time – then a lightning-swift lunge.

Corrin braces for the impact, but doesn't ward it off. Niles knows him, his battle style, and recognises when he isn't really trying, as if unconvinced that he deserves to defend himself. There's a scuffle, hard to track. They step too close to the balcony's edge.

His breath freezes in his chest as they tumble over.

Before he can act there's a great sweep of silver scales, a flurry of golden leaves torn loose from their vines. Corrin reappears, saved by his dragon wings. Alone, he crashes back onto the balcony, gasping, hand curled around the weapon sunk into his side (he may 'choose to wear the armour of Nohr', but this night he was dressed casually, not for battle).

Without thinking, Niles rushes forward, catching him as he staggers. Corrin makes a surprised noise, not foolish enough to pull out the weapon, a shuriken. Not a fatal-looking wound, clumsily positioned, not deep enough to hit anything vital. Poor work for a trained ninja, unless...

“Niles...” His wings give an odd, violent tremble, like a butterfly caught in a storm.

“Shut up. It's poisoned.”

“Poison?” Corrin repeats, dully. His hands are beginning to shake, too.

“You need to get to the infirmary.” Niles slings one of Corrin's arms around his shoulders and half-guides, half-drags him in the right direction. He doesn't know much about Hoshidan poisons, but Askr's healers have experience with all kinds of exotic wounds and maladies. He's still trying not to think, about whether helping is what he wants to do.

They stumble along mostly-empty corridors, burst through the infirmary doors to find a single healer on the graveyard shift, surprised but mercifully wide awake. The healer ushers Corrin to a bed, checks his pulse and peers into his eyes, then bustles over to a rack of medicine bottles, salves and tonics and antidotes (and beneath that, surgical tools; it's a gory business, fighting somebody else's wars). One bottle selected, charcoal-coloured stuff that makes Corrin cough as he drinks it, before they set about removing that shuriken.

Niles feels obliged to stay, if only to report to Lord Leo that his brother isn't officially dead yet. He has nothing to say, no support to offer, can't even fall back onto innuendo. Too tired for any of it. Bloody water spills to the floor as the wound is rinsed, flushing out any lingering poison. Drip, drip, around the healer's feet. If only it were so easy to get rid of the toxins in a person's soul.

When Corrin reaches for his hand in hazy delirium, seeking comfort, Niles almost forgets why that's not allowed, then flinches away.

“Sorry.” Quickly, Corrin withdraws his hand. “I forgot, you don't...”

“It's fine,” Niles lies. The ghost of that touch lingers on his skin, an invisible imprint.

“You take me too seriously, though,” Corrin says, soft and sombre. “For a Niles who doesn't know me. You should say something like 'there are better places you could put your hands'. Make it into a risqué joke. That's what you do, with people you're not close to.”

Oh, he's too sharp, even in a state like this. Naive, sheltered, determined to see the good in everyone, _sweet but not stupid_. And now he's watching Niles expectantly, waiting for an answer. When the silence stretches on – the healer studiously preparing needle and thread to stitch the wound closed – Corrin adds, “I'm glad you were there. I thought that was a part of the castle you'd like.”

“...Who exactly is this pretence in aid of? Lord Leo and Lady Camilla have already turned a blind eye, no matter what you've done. What's the point of trying to fool me, too? _I'm_ not that important.”

“Niles, I... I'm not trying to fool anybody. And you're very important. To me, you–”

“Ugh. I don't know why I bothered.”

With that, Niles leaves the room. Too close, it's all striking too close to the bone. He just helped foil someone else's assassination plan, when it was in the same vein as his own, working on the same principles. The same righteous, despairing image of pre-emptive vengeance. On every possible level, he's defeated.

It's only later, thinking of that touch, that he realises the piece of jewellery Corrin wore was a gold ring.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Askr's soldiers find the ninja before any angry Nohrians can. He survived the balcony fall, barely. Rather than execution or imprisonment, they simply get the Summoner to return him to his own world. It's hard to say if that's a mercy or not.

The Hoshidans, Ryoma in particular, condemn his actions without reservation, regardless of anything he said about their futures. Perhaps they don't believe it. Niles is praised for his quick action, and nobody ventures to ask why he was hanging around that part of the castle at night, shadowing a liege that wasn't his own. Corrin recovers, and makes it clear that he doesn't hold a grudge (never mind that the only reason he lived was his dragon blood, slowing the poison's effects, or so the healers claimed). The fragile veneer of truce is smoothed over once more.

It doesn't make sense, though. Too many things are conflicting in what Niles knows, or thought he knew, compared to what he hears and sees now, compared to what others claim. Corrin doesn't make sense to him.

To be a naturally talented actor, lying about his allegiance to Nohr while plotting a return to Hoshido, that could be possible. The way he behaves around the princess, his other self, their strange discomfort as if they truly hold opposite ideals, that could be another stage of the act. Even the ninja's rage and attempted assassination, his story about the fall of Hoshido, could have been staged by someone with enough brilliance and foresight. That was the scale of manipulation you'd expect from a seasoned courtier though, not a sheltered youth. Not without puppeteer to guide his every move, and there's nobody like that around. Which would suggest the ninja wasn't lying. Reviving hope that Corrin wouldn't abandon Nohr, stirring up the ashes.

But Leo wasn't lying either, when he told of Nohr's fall and Xander's death. He stands by those memories, even now. They _happened_. Even as he smiles over breakfast with Corrin and Camilla, he knows they happened, managing to moderate his behaviour for this separate world in a way that's beyond Niles' comprehension.

In the future, Corrin sides with Hoshido and destroys Nohr. In the future, Corrin sides with Nohr and destroys Hoshido. Both statements can't simultaneously be true, yet everybody acts as if they are, or picks the one that suits them best.

Except for Niles. He didn't pick the idea that was best for him. He's believed the worst, all along.

Now he feels a constant weight of dread, fixing him in place, like a step in any direction will be wrong. Suffer betrayal from the one you love – or cruelly turn from the one who loves you. Nobler minds, like the Corrin-he-thought-he-knew, would barely hesitate before throwing themselves forward, preferring to risk their own suffering, incapable of the selfish choice. But there's no trace of anything noble left in Niles, if there ever was. It's been flayed, starved, ripped to pieces. And so he keeps standing, unable to guide himself through.

 

* * *

 

“Niles, there you are. There's something I need to show you.”

“Milord?” He looks at the book Leo holds up, curious. The castle has extensive libraries, and naturally his liege makes good use of them, but Niles isn't much of a reader himself. These days, he's not much of anything.

“I've been gathering my own information about events in our world, from everyone who's been summoned here.” Leo opens the first page, and it begins with a brief profile of himself, in his own immaculate handwriting. The date he was summoned, and the date it was for him, back home (two completely different calendars). Then a pair of marks, the first black and the second white, against almond-coloured paper.

Beneath that is a profile for Camilla, with a later 'summoning' date, and an earlier 'home' date. The same pair of marks, one black and one white. Her retainer Selena on the following page, black and white. The distant princess Corrin, black and white. Sakura and Ryoma, two white marks. Niles, two black marks. The newer prince Corrin, two black marks.

“It was confusing at first, but I've identified two branches of possibility, based upon a choice made by Corrin. When we went to rescue him from Hoshido following Queen Mikoto's death, he either came back home, or stayed with them. That's what these marks signify. The first is the person's nation of origin. The second indicates which nation Corrin sided with, in their version of our world.”

“But, that...” Niles swallows, straining to process this information. Branches, how can there be branches, _versions_ _?_ “You told me he betrayed us, Lord Leo. Everybody here, they all say he'll choose Hoshido in the end.”

“For me, I'm afraid he did. But I've discussed this with everyone who'd agree to it.” Leo turns another page, and this one lists more Hoshidan names, people Niles has never interacted with except to start a fight. Most have two white marks. A few have one white, one black. Amongst them is Saizo, the disgraced ninja. “There are only two branches. Corrin stands with us, and we conquer Hoshido. Or he abandons us, and we fall. Any other variations, such as him being a man or a woman, seem to have minimal effect on our fates.”

“The Hoshidan queen died months ago.”

“If that's the case for you, then he's already chosen his side.”

“He's with Nohr.” The words feel odd, unreal, as if somebody else is saying them. Everything was a lie. Simultaneously, everything was true.

“I know. You're more fortunate than Camilla or I. We can't explain why our world is divided, when that isn't the case with most others. Aside from the people of Ylisse, they all have a single, immutable timeline, yet we don't. Perhaps it's a mystery we'll never solve.” Leo sighs, glancing up from the book. “Are you all right, Niles? You suddenly look unwell.”

“Pardon me, milord, but can we resume this later? I... There's something I have to...”

Leo closes the book, looking strangely satisfied, as if he's just set up a checkmate. “That's fine. I think he was in the north wing cloisters, earlier.”

Niles blinks, and Leo simply stares back at him. And then everything clicks into place. Oh, his liege is _far_ too observant.

As he runs for the cloisters, he realises that Leo didn't mention their past plan (which in light of all this, would never have worked anyway). He'd have expected a passing comment at least, a question of whether he'd really be able to do that. Some type of assurance towards Corrin's wellbeing.

Leo isn't someone who shies from difficult questions. If he doesn't ask, it's because he's already confident of the answer.

 

* * *

 

Corrin is indeed in the cloisters, chatting with a ragtag group from an entirely different world (as if he'd let that stand in the way of making friends). At the sight of Niles approaching, he gives them a wave and steps aside, with a look of curious anticipation.

Niles halts, heart hammering worse than it ever has on the battlefield. He doesn't know what to say, or if he even deserves to be standing here after all the vicious, dark, faithless thoughts he's wallowed in for the past...weeks? Months? Has it been months, since he could last gaze into Corrin's eyes and actually see him?

“I made a mistake,” he manages, voice cracking, pleading with Corrin to understand all that means.

It seems like forever before Corrin steps forward, face full of poorly-guarded hope, and sets a hand on Niles' cheek. Waits a moment to be sure it's allowed to stay, before the other hand moves to the other cheek. The first flicker of a smile. There's a warmth to his touch that nobody else can equal, and the relief of feeling it is almost enough to make Niles break down, right there.

“I knew it was you,” Corrin whispers. “I knew you were mine.”

The kiss breathes new life into him. It's just how it used to be, beginning tenderly, building in intensity because neither of them can help themselves. Corrin's hands are never still, stroking Niles' neck and shoulders, sweeping through his hair, needing to touch as much as possible. Offering everything, holding nothing back.

“What happened?” It's not an accusation when Corrin says it, though it ought to be. He's barely pulled away, mouths still so close that each word is almost another kiss, in itself.

“Everyone said you'd turn to Hoshido.” All of a sudden, it feels like a pathetic excuse. “Even Leo did. And then that other you appeared, in Hoshidan clothes. I thought, if that's how it was going to be...”

“No. My home is in Nohr, with you.”

Niles shudders, self-control cracking, burying his face in Corrin's hair so his tears can't be seen. So much exhausting grief, confusion, resentment, self-loathing, beginning to evaporate. Like he'd been trapped deep underwater, and now each word drags him towards the surface, rising up into light and air, salvation. The blade no longer pressing against him.

“I missed you so much.” Corrin's voice remains a whisper, like they're both too fragile for anything louder. “I wanted to talk with you, be with you all the time, but you seemed to hate being near me. I can't imagine how awful it was, from your perspective. You must have thought...”

It's unbearable, hearing it spoken. Compassion cutting through bravado, not letting him pretend it's fine. That's how Corrin has always been, since their first conversation about Niles' tormented past.

Niles kisses him hard to shut him up, and Corrin doesn't complain, responding in turn, matching his need. Reservation has no place here. Corrin's back hits a wall, his fingers dig into Niles' clothing, trying impossibly to drag him even closer. Are those people from the other world still hanging around, witnessing the spectacle? He doesn't spare a glance to check, doesn't care. He caresses Corrin's face, grabs his ass, and every gesture in between, working around the black and gold armour. Time melts away, it doesn't matter, so long as nothing pries them apart.

There are limits, though. “This way,” Corrin gasps between kisses, gently pushing Niles to move, heading somewhere private.

Being a foreign royal, Corrin gets his own personal chambers, not forced to rub shoulders with the common masses (regardless that _he'd_ never think of it that way). Red sheets like back home, though none of the weird masks from his treehouse walls; Niles always got the sense they were glaring down on him. But he's not here to criticise the décor. If the door has a decent lock to stop interruptions, then he's good.

He sits on the edge of the bed, drawing Corrin to stand before him, trailing fingers along his arms before letting go of their embrace. “Take your clothes off,” he orders.

"What, you don't want to help?" It's asked playfully, an invitation. A side of Corrin that nobody else has been lucky enough to see, and they never will.

"I want to look at you." Properly, not skulking in the damn shadows anymore.

Corrin smiles, a hint of shyness but no hesitation, deftly beginning to loosen his armour's straps. The carpet mutes each piece's impact as it drops: vambraces, cuirass, greaves, all those elaborate names. Oh, it might be his sweet soul that Niles fell for, but it doesn't hurt that the body surrounding it is gorgeous. Built strong and slim, with a warrior's purposeful grace, not bulked out by excessive muscle and not too delicate either, the same as Niles himself. He likes that, the even ground. Difficult to name anything he doesn't like, really.

Niles waits until Corrin's stripped to his trousers – if you can even call them such, when they're so form-fitting – then can't resist any longer, has to reach out and bring him closer. Kisses his bare stomach, slides covetous hands over him, up and down and around. Corrin draws a shaky, anticipatory breath, fingers curling in Niles' hair, at the nape of his neck.

“You missed me, hmm? Never been so long without me, have you? But I waited even longer. That was very bad of you, taking so long to show up.” He drags Corrin's trousers down his thighs. Just underwear left now, but Niles doesn't hurry, mouth tracing the hard shape beneath, saliva wetting the fabric.

“Please,” Corrin sighs. Niles smirks, finally feeling _powerful_ , in all the ways that were missing before. Not thrown around by fate, coincidences, misunderstandings, not paralysed by greater forces. Everything happening now is what he wants, what he's chosen. In all his life, loving Corrin is the one free choice he's made, completely for himself. Not because the alternative would be worse, see him crippled or killed (even the decision to serve Lord Leo was 'do it or die'). Because it would make him happy. Simple as that.

“Oh, that's nothing compared to how you're going to beg me.”

He guides Corrin onto the bed, pins him down, ties his wrists to the headboard with practised efficiency (using his discarded cravat; what a versatile little garment that is). Not a word of protest from Corrin, only that favourite expression Niles remembers: bitten lip, enticing smile, moving to accommodate Niles' plans. He isn't some submissive doll – he's entirely capable of asserting himself, when the mood calls for it – but does so like to give people what they want. Has always been better at surrendering control than Niles. Trusting, generous, all the qualities Niles isn't.

Not half so modest in the bedroom as most would assume, though. As Niles casts off his clothes - far quicker than Corrin, not having armour to manipulate - those scarlet eyes roam his body, admiring.

“Is that a new scar?” Concern interrupts Corrin's interest, momentarily.

“Yeah. Did you know that if you're on the verge of death here, the Summoner's magic weapon can raise you back into action? No finishing before they're satisfied. It's pain on a whole other level.” He draws his thumb across Corrin's lower lip, then presses two fingers inside, across the slightly sharp teeth and soft, slick tongue, feeling the washes of heat from Corrin's breaths, forcing him to open wider. “You're beautiful,” he says, low and absolutely sincere. "You drive me crazy."

Then he withdraws his fingers, grips Corrin's hair instead, and fucks that pretty mouth. Not long enough to finish, just to make Corrin desperately hot and bothered, giving muffled moans of encouragement. So eager to please. He actually whimpers when Niles pulls out, panting, lips glistening wet and cheeks flushed red. Even more beautiful, now.

Niles leans down, keeping that grip on his hair, gradually relaxing it to a caress and murmuring close to his ear. “I know you like that. But that's not where you want it most, is it? Ready to _really_ beg?”

“Yes. Yes.” And Corrin does, with words and body both, arching, straining against the ties (which they both know he could snap in an instant, if he had to, but that would spoil the fun). He'll never match Niles' talent for filthy talk, since _he_ wasn't raised in the gutter, but he's a fast learner, knows exactly what Niles likes to hear. What he wants, how badly he needs it, how Niles can do anything at all to him right now.

Niles' patience burns out, yanking off Corrin's underwear, shoving his legs apart. He's not gentle, at all. Corrin might bruise, might cry out loud enough for the whole castle to hear, but he won't break – he never has yet.

They don't speak for a while afterwards, lying in an inelegant tangle, taking time to catch their breath, trade occasional kisses of reassurance, bask in the long-denied luxury of each other's presence. Corrin's wrists freed, he touches the new scar on Niles' side, as if it's not too late to heal it, as if contact from him is all it would need (honestly, by this point Niles could almost believe it). He's still wearing that gold ring.

“We're from the same place, but not the same point in time, are we?” Niles asks.

“I'm not sure. We'd reached Izumo?”

“Still on the ship to Mokushu.”

“Ah, so that explains why you don't match.” Corrin's hand slides over Niles' own, unadorned (aside from the fading marks of where he stupidly punched that wall). “I was afraid you might have thrown yours away, when you got the wrong idea.”

That confirms Niles' suspicion, though he can barely believe it. His chest feels tight with an odd, fluttering warmth. “I gave that to you?”

“You asked me. I said yes.” Corrin's smile could light up the whole world (every version of it, every branch of possibility). Like it's one of his best memories.

Niles gives a soft breath of laughter. “What would you do a foolish thing like that for?”

“Because I love you.” He leans up, touches his lips to Niles' forehead with such tenderness, such a sense of being cherished. “I love you,” he repeats. Another kiss, another affirmation. Cheeks, neck, shoulder. _I love you, I love you._

“I'm so sorry, Corrin.” He can barely shape the words, overwhelmed. Such a contrast between what he'd been convinced of, and what was real. Hell and heaven.

“Don't be. I can't claim to know every thought in your head, but...I know you. The rest of the world, your upbringing, it all taught you it wasn't safe to be open with anyone. I'm the only one who said otherwise, and you listened to me. I'll never forget that. I'll never make you regret it.”

This time, they're gentler with each other. His mouth soothes everywhere he bruised before, and then some. No teasing, giving Corrin whatever he wants, lost in his pleasure. Adoring every detail, the shuddering way he sighs Niles' name, the fact that the first thing he wants to do after coming down Niles' throat is kiss him, deep and grateful and shameless. Then Corrin climbs onto his lap, takes him in again – slowly, sensitive from how roughly he was used before (but they both like that) – and somewhere along the way Niles' eyepatch has fallen aside, and Corrin's face is framed by sharp silver curves, draconic wings spread out behind to aid his balance. The hidden parts of themselves that nobody really understands. Strange, unsettling, stirring memories of violence and loss. But not here, between them.

Whatever the surroundings, this is home.

 

* * *

 

He wakes in jagged panic, grasping out, convinced that he's still alone. Registering the skin-to-skin warmth at his back, the arms wrapped around him, he sighs faintly in relief. Corrin shifts, disturbed by the movement, but as ever he's lazier than Niles, less keen to abandon sleep. Not impossible, though; as Niles tries to resettle, Corrin nuzzles at the crook of his neck.

“Hey. Bad dreams?” Corrin mumbles the question, voice drowsy and comforting.

“For once, no.” He closes his eye, but sleep is elusive now. Corrin's fingertips trace idle circles across his stomach. After a while, Niles surrenders to the inevitable, turns over and draws him into a kiss, instead.

Moonlight flows through the open window. They've missed dinner, which is fine since Niles doesn't feel like anyone else's company. He sneaks down to the kitchens, steals food and wine, then directly asks a servant for one of Corrin's favourite pastries, from a tray they'd been guarding (he doesn't know why they were doing that in the middle of the night, and doesn't care). They glare until he explains who it's for, making up some lie about how Corrin was unwell earlier and couldn't eat. That does the trick. Even here, everybody knows Corrin. Everybody treasures him, except those with incredibly poor judgment.

Mission accomplished, he returns to find Corrin testing another of the Askran castle's luxuries, in the bathroom: a large tub that's linked to pipes of heated water, easily filled without servants traipsing back and forth with buckets. It's like their own personal hot springs. What a clever invention; now if only Askr could make a device to fight its own wars, everything would be perfect.

That thought aside, he cheerfully throws off his clothes again and joins Corrin in the water, balancing their midnight feast on a table beside the tub. Quiet talk and drifting steam, and just enough candlelight to see each other's faces, to distinguish one morsel from another. Corrin tells him of what happened between Mokushu and Izumo, how Niles proposed, what he wants things to be like once the war is over. Niles confesses his and Leo's abandoned plan, an assassination to save Nohr. Corrin, like Leo, doesn't feel the need to ask if Niles could really have done it, and seems more upset that Niles was driven to such despair, rather than dwelling on the threat to his own life.

“I don't like being around that other Corrin,” he confides. “I feel bad, but I think it's mutual. In the moment, back when I had to choose sides, it was so difficult...but we've gone a long way down different paths, since then. Her ideals aren't mine. She isn't the same person as me.” He takes a long sip of the wine. It's a vibrant red, naturally. Without a doubt Niles' favourite colour, though he doesn't wear it himself.

“She certainly doesn't have such good taste in men.”

“That's another thing, I suppose. It hurts to know there's another world where we're really enemies.”

“Well, if her world's Niles ever appears, I'm sure you could win him over. Of course, then you'd have twice as much to handle...” It's meant jokingly, but the way Corrin blushes is telling. Niles grins. “Oh, thought of that before, have you? I don't know why everyone praises you for having such a pure heart, Corrin.”

“If you love something then you want as much of it as possible, don't you?” He's not usually one for carrying banter along, but there's a rare sparkle in his eyes.

“ _Lord_ Corrin!” Niles exclaims, in delighted pretence of being shocked.

 

* * *

 

They stroll into the dining hall, late for breakfast. Arms linked, to the head of the Nohrian table, where neither Leo nor Camilla seems the slightest bit surprised. Of course, Corrin would have spilled his secrets to them. _What's the matter with Niles? He acts so hostile,_ _as if_ _I've done something terrible to him, but in the world I'm from, we were in love. Don't look at me like that, Leo!_ _Whatever you're thinking, it wasn't like that. We were so happy together_ _,_ _and now_ _..._

“You're in a good mood,” Leo remarks, as if pretending he doesn't know the cause, passing the butter dish over to Corrin. Probably for the best.

Camilla says nothing, only rests her chin on her hands and smiles at Niles in a slow, calculated manner. The message is clear: if he ever makes her dear little brother upset again, for a single minute, they'll find his body in a dozen different pieces. It's a threat he's heard before, and frankly he can't begrudge the sentiment behind it.

Corrin spreads a generous helping of butter over his toast, joining in small talk of everyone's plans for the day. Niles has never been much for this sort of thing, but looks on, content. Now and then Corrin turns his way, drawing him into the conversation, keeping him included. Taking hold of his hand once the dishes are cleared aside, arms resting on the table. Over in the Hoshidan corner, Niles catches irritated glances from the retainers he'd fought with. _Told you so_ , he mouths at them, but for once his delight isn't based on someone else's discomfort.

He doesn't waste time moving into Corrin's chambers, ending his nomadic existence of breaking into empty rooms to rest (which the Askrans were forced to turn a blind eye to, because they couldn't physically stop him). Not that he had any possessions to shift, nothing but his bow and the clothes on his back - being raised as a beggar, then a thief, teaches a certain lack of attachment to material things. He'd expected it to feel strange, abandoning solitude so suddenly, but the adjustment is easy, natural. Like he's not changing himself, only revealing a side that never had a place anywhere, before. Corrin doesn't demand too much from him. They're similar, in that sense; they've learned to be glad for whatever they get.

As the days pass, loneliness begins to feel like nothing more than a long nightmare, a dark blur in Niles' mind. People remark on how he's gotten nicer, though he's still far from genuinely _nice_. He's just not violently miserable now. Being happy around Corrin is the one thing he enjoys more than being a nuisance around everyone else.

The war between Askr and Embla continues, adding drama here and there, but the majority of days pass peacefully. This place isn't actually too bad, he realises. Beneath all the fluff and sunshine, the prattle about how they'd rather make friends than fight, these people aren't intolerable. They fill their free hours with games and festivals, training and contests of skill, and when Niles puts the archers from other worlds to shame, Corrin is at the front of the audience, cheering him on. Not a distraction, but a source of strength.

“Looks like you need some more experience handling that thing,” he remarks, nodding at an opponent's bow, before lowering his own and turning away from the battered targets (personally he prefers it when they're shaped like people, not bullseyes, but never mind). And to Corrin, “You're so noisy. Having a good time?”

“What, I'm not supposed to cheer?” Corrin smiles, arms winding around Niles' neck. Back home they were reserved and proper around each other – or at least, Niles wasn't much more _improper_ with Corrin than with anyone else – but here it's different. Corrin isn't leading an army, trying to impress a tyrant king, so nobody cares what he does, how many public displays of affection he's guilty of on a daily basis (well, maybe a few prudes somewhere in the castle might care, but Niles can give them detailed instructions on where to shove their complaints). “It's fun watching you show off.”

Behind them, one of the other archers complains that there's no handsome prince waiting for them, too. Corrin gives an embarrassed laugh. Before Niles gets the chance for a witty reply, an Askran messenger scrambles into the courtyard, and all eyes turn to them.

“Urgent summons from the generals! Emblian troops have launched a surprise attack, we need to send reinforcements.” The playful atmosphere recedes as they begin reading out a list of names, the 'heroes' selected for the mission.

“...of the Black Fang, Princess Lucina of Ylisse, Prince Corrin of Nohr, Royal Consort Niles of Nohr...”

“Huh, looks like we're both up. And I've got a title now! Wonder how they guessed.”

“It's fairly obvious, when your hand is back there,” Corrin says, dryly.

Niles offers a roguish grin, and doesn't move it away, since Corrin didn't ask him to.

They can't stay here indefinitely. Nobody knows precisely what will happen when they're sent home, whether they'll even be able to remember what happened. Neither of them are strangers to amnesia, though Niles has never faced the prospect of losing _good_ memories before. Yet oddly he isn't afraid. He'll still be returning to the source of those memories, the person he can make a thousand more with, secure in the knowledge it's what they both want. On some level, he doesn't think that knowledge will leave him. Perhaps it's what will give him the courage to propose, in future. Perhaps it's all part of some vast, incomprehensible pattern, gradually weaving together.

Time passes differently between worlds, that's one thing people seem certain of. So, one day he'll wake here, in Corrin's embrace; the next he'll wake back home, on the ship travelling to Mokushu, in Corrin's embrace. That doesn't sound too terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> In Heroes, Corrin mentions that he once had to choose between his families, but doesn't say who he went with. There's a heap of potential trouble for Fates characters summoned into Askr, having to figure out if their allies are from the Conquest or Birthright path (and the New Years units are from post-game Revelations, I think). In most cases it's left unclear - except for Niles, who indirectly references Corrin as 'someone dear to me' in his level 40 dialogue. So a Birthright Corrin would probably ruin his day. ...And that's where the idea for this story began!


End file.
